Clowns –

There was glass all over the ground. A fella standing at the door of a house, said: ‘Watch yourself there.’
‘I will. You had a smash?’
‘Fuckin window. Herself was upstairs and said she’ll open the window and sure the hinges broke and the fuckin thing fell out on to the road and smashed all over the place. We’re waiting for your man to come and fix it now from the council.’
Beat. Then he said: ‘At least you’re not from Irish Water.’
‘What Irish Water do on ya?’
‘Fuckin cunts. I’m goin to break their heads when I see them. Put in a meter when I wasn’t here. Knew I was on holidays.’
A woman came up behind him then. Looking like she was about to piss vinegar, glared at me and said: ‘I hope you’re not from IRISH fuckin WATER?!’
‘He’s not!’ Said the husband. ‘I asked him. He’s only passin the door. Do you think he’d be still standing if he was? You’d be lookin at a fuckin ambulance is what you’d be lookin at.’
She walked back in. Then the husband said: ‘The junkies should have sorted them out anyway.’
‘Who? Irish Water?’ How d’ya mean?’
‘See up the hill there? Past the goalposts?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Around that corner there’s about forty junkies.’
‘Doin what?’
‘Heroin mostly.’
‘Do they live here?’
‘They squat in the houses that are boarded up by the council, and if they get kicked out of there, they just hang around the green all day. Fuckin kids have to be careful of the needles you know?’
‘Christ.’
‘Do you remember that time with the clowns?’
‘Which clowns?’
‘Around Halloween. People were goin around dressed up as clowns?’
‘I do, yeah. Clowns.’
‘Yeah, well, they were goin around here freakin the shit out of people. One woman had her arm cut with a knife.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Sure it was drivin the junkies mental. They didn’t know if they were real clowns, or imagining fuckin clowns, or what the fuck was goin on.’
I laughed. He said: ‘So they all got together. Formed a kind of a vigilante group. Gathered up a few sticks and knives and hatchets and hammers and waited until night time.’
A big white van pulled up, fella stuck his head out the window, said: ‘Ye waitin to get a window fixed?!
‘Yeah! Said your man. ‘Is it you?’
‘Tis! Hang on there a minute.’ He looked at the mess on the ground, said: ‘Christ it’s fucked!’ and he went off to park.
‘Anyway….’ Continued himself. ‘The junkies all got together with all their weapons and they waited til the clowns arrived that night and they HUNTED the fuckin cunts out of the estate. Ran them like dogs. The clowns didn’t know what the fuck happened.’
‘Some sight I’d say?’
‘Some sight alright watching about forty junkies with hatchets and other weapons chasing a crowd of clowns out up the road. But sure that’s normal around here.’
The wife shouted from inside: ‘Is he here?!’
‘He’s comin now. He’s comin!’
I says: ‘I’ll keep goin.’
‘Do.’ He says. ‘G’luck.’

(Includes Worldwide Delivery and Postage) Charlie’s out on bail and back on the sauce. Still devastated over the events of El Niño, he drinks to kill the pain and robs all he can to feel alive. But the past won’t give him peace. The police want him in jail. Kramer’s old crew have a price on his head, and his new employer has big plans to carve out his own niche in the criminal underworld — with Charlie at the helm. Roped into a series of audacious heists and ingenious schemes, he finds himself involved with illegal diesel in Westmeath, stolen cash machines in Mayo and violent debt collection in Galway. Couple that with his regular income of stealing wallets and robbing shops and you have a cyclone of a man roaring down a path to destruction. And bringing everybody with him. And then there’s Karena. The beautiful girl that may save him — but maybe she should know better? At times dark, others touching, and often comic, Mokusatsu is a fiction readers feast of Irish Crime Writing.